


Something that Might be Stars

by mechakucharumba



Category: Pokemon, Pokemon Black and White
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechakucharumba/pseuds/mechakucharumba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair hits the ground hard, so hard that he sees something that might be stars—or  maybe it’s just the glint in Cheren’s glasses, in his eyes, and Blair never knew black could be so bright.  Also contains erotic asphyxiation and teenage boys solving their problems poorly.  Could be taken as dub-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something that Might be Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for the Pokanon Kinkmeme around the time BW came out in America, iirc.

Blair hits the ground hard, so hard that he sees something that might be stars—or  maybe it’s just the glint in Cheren’s glasses, in his eyes, and Blair never knew black could be so bright.

“Goddammit,” Cheren breathes, as far from himself as he can be as he straddles Blair’s lap, jerking him up by the collar so that they’re face to face. Blair’s mouth, his limbs, his heart, they feel like lead, a sick sort of feeling, the drop in his stomach when he realizes that he’s fucked it up all over again. He opens his mouth, attempting to vomit something out, some sort of question or an apology, but Cheren cuts him off.

“This is it, Blair?” he asks, voice rough. “This is what beat the Gyms? This is what beat the Elite Four, N, all of Team Plasma?” Blair winces as the single letter hits him harder than the punch that knocked him down, and he knows Cheren knows it. “Ever since that first day, you’ve gone on without any effort, the biggest sensation since Alder himself— they have you on TV all the time, did you know that? Maybe I hated you for it once,” and Blair wants to push him off, because friends don’t straddle friends like this, friends don’t talk like they want to hurt you and look like they want to fuck you, “but I got over that. If my Pokemon taught me a single thing, it’s that you can’t force strength, no matter how you define it. You knew that from the start, even if you were too stupid to realize it,” and for a second, there’s a glimpse of the Cheren Blair knows, smug and smirking, only it’s not a smirk, it’s a grimace, “you knew that, and yet here you are, losing to me. They  _trust_  you, your Pokemon, and  _he_  trusted you, too,” Cheren’s voice nearly breaks here, not with sorrow, but with anger, “and you lose to me because all you did was stand there and let me win.”

“Shut up,” Blair croaks, but it’s all empty words, and they both know it.

“Make me,” Cheren growls, and then their lips crash together in a kiss like a slap to the face. There’s nothing soft about it, nothing like Blair’s imagined kissing girls, or even N—Cheren’s lips are harsh enough to bruise, and he tastes like frustration. 

They break apart, and Cheren pushes Blair back down, yanking the zipper of his jacket in one brusque movement, letting the cool air of Victory Road’s inner caves seep right through his shirt to his skin. Blair’s blurry mind can remember maybe a handful of times that Cheren’s just lost his temper, but it’s never been like this, and that alone tells him that he probably deserves it. Still, he struggles, jerking his hips up in a crude attempt to shake Cheren off of him. If he would just get off, Blair thinks, they could stand up, shake the dust from their hair and clothes, and pretend nothing’s ever happened. Bianca’s good at that kind of pretending—

“Bianca knows, too,” Cheren says in that infuriating way he has of knowing just what you’re thinking. “You keep her up at night, you know that? She doesn’t say much to me, but I know her too well, I know that she worries about you.” 

“I thought you loved her,” Blair mutters, surprisingly candid and devoid of teenage trivialities. Cheren finally stops for a moment, unsure of himself. But it’s only a moment.

“I do,” he says at last, like it actually hurts to say out loud. “But I love you, too, you absolute idiot.” Blair’s heart twists, but no, Cheren’s kissing him again, somehow rougher than before, their tongues slicking awkwardly against one another, their muddled actions ripe with inexperience. When Cheren shrugs off his jacket, Blair doesn’t try to move away, but nor does he try to engage any further. He wants to say something else, anything else, but if he tries, he knows that at best, all that will come out is a hiss of empty air. Cheren’s hands slide up his shirt, somehow ghosting over his skin like it’s soft fabric, and Blair finds himself wriggling out of it and the sweater, the ground as cold as Cheren’s hand is hot as it curves around his neck.

“You’re an absolute idiot,” Cheren says again, a harsh, breaking whisper. I know, Blair wants to say, but suddenly, Cheren’s hand constricts, and he can’t breathe. A choked gasp bursts forth from his lips, but if Cheren even responds at all, it’s to squeeze harder. Blair’s hips thrash upwards again, entirely independent of whatever conscious thoughts he has left, but this time, Cheren presses down against him, and Blair comes to the realization that he’s never been this aroused, this miserable, this pathetic in his entire life. Cheren’s other hand snakes beneath Blair’s waistband, wrapping around his cock and fucking  _pulling_ , and Blair’s pretty sure he can only hold his breath for about thirty seconds, how the hell is he going to not choke to death—

“Blair,” Cheren gasps, eyes so bright behind his glasses, so blurred in Blair’s vision, that they look like the stars he saw earlier, those dying stars. For just a moment, Cheren’s grip on his throat relaxes, even if his other hand hasn’t stopped jerking him off, and Blair sucks in air with a rattling breath, the ceiling of the cave flashing black and white, black and white, black and black. He runs a dry tongue over his dry lips and tastes blood— was it there the whole time? Then the pressure is back, back, mounting in a harsh cadence and a lack thereof. Weakly, Blair grasps at Cheren’s wrist, trying to dislodge his grip, but the boy who he beat in every single fist-fight since they were six holds fast. If Blair was a poetic person, he might find it ironic, but he isn’t—he’s half-naked, half-conscious, and fully fit to burst.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Cheren asks, though it sounds like an accusation. The movements of his hand up and down Blair’s cock are awkward at best, but it’s enough. “You idiot, are you enjoying this? Are you enjoying anything? Of course not,” he says bitterly, heatedly, answering for Blair and for himself, “you aren’t enjoying anything at all, and we’re all suffering for it.”

Blair groans and shuts his eyes, half-wishing he could just pass out and wake up at home, knowing that a shitty dream is better than no sleep at all.

“Look at me!” Cheren nearly shouts, and if anyone else is nearby, they’re definitely hearing him now. “Even if you can’t bring yourself to be honest, just look at me!” Slowly, hazily, Blair’s eyes drift open, and he sees what he’s been seeing, what he’s missed all along—Cheren’s face, flushed, angry, proud, wanting. Oh god, he can’t breathe, he can’t think, his whole body’s going numb, then it’s full of sensation, then numb again, and no matter how much he wants some semblance of control over himself, now that he knows he wants it, he doesn’t have it. He comes then, abruptly, what’s left of his vision vanishing in an instant as his lungs scream for air and the voice he doesn’t have screams Cheren’s name.

At last, the hand around his throat is removed entirely, and Blair can already feel the bruises forming. Both of their chests heave, breathing echoing around the empty walls of the cave like so much dust. With an effort, Cheren gets to his feet, though Blair can see he’s shaking with anger and arousal.

“Pick yourself up, Blair,” he rasps, the colour on his normally pale cheeks high with emotion. “You have people waiting for you.”

“Like you?” Blair asks, sounding as bad as he can only imagine he looks.

Once upon a time, if that kind of thing exists, Cheren would have turned his back and ran off in a huff, already contemplating anew the meaning of strength. This time, he waits.

 


End file.
